


Taste them in my teeth

by risinggreatness



Series: Circle 'round the sun [97]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Non-Graphic Smut, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risinggreatness/pseuds/risinggreatness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is a bit of a wild child, perhaps a bit too much like her dad (not EU compliant)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste them in my teeth

Every other step is a skip; every third step Sam is ready to dash into a jog. Her long awaited first day of learning to fly is here, the moment she’s waited for since dad let her put her hands on the steering once at age six.

Her first sign things weren’t going to go as expected should have been that Chewie was nowhere in sight, but she’s not looking too hard at anything clinging to the ground.

( _Master Darrin wants her to turn the habit into something productive; Sam’s working on it._ )

“You’re not dad,” Sam blurts to the decidedly smaller silhouette in the co-pilot’s seat.

Mom spins around to face her, eyebrow raised, which means Sam’s probably in a bit of trouble.

“No, I’m not. Your power of observation is astute,” mom responds dryly.

Sam’s not entirely sure how annoyed mom is with her. She knows automatically with Bee, dad’s easy to read, and even Pres is open with his emotions, but mom is always a little bit guarded to her.

Sam jams her boot toe into the floor, mumbling, “I mean I just expected him to take me the first time.”

Mom is unable to keep the amused irony out of her voice, “He was called last minute to a meeting in the senate. Come on, let’s get started.”

Sam moves a little sluggishly to the pilot’s seat, her excitement somewhat diminished. She senses mom staring sharply at her and gets the feeling for as little as she seems to get mom, mom might get her better than Bee.

The urge to launch the Falcon into the sky returns the instant she wraps her hands around the steering. This is going to be easy, this is going to be natural; this is the Force, only _almost_ better.

“Easy,” mom cautions as they pull away from the hangar, her own hands ready to launch away from co-pilot controls.

“This isn’t flying school,” Sam is compelled to remind mom when they reach into the dark of space. Of everyone in the family, mom’s the only one who went through a proper instructor, but it wouldn’t do for anything less during her childhood.

“No, it is not,” is mom’s only response, the cool settling back into her tone.

Mom loves a good argument, and Sam wants to prove she can win someone to her side with words as well as mom.

“Flying has to be improvised and worked with, like the Force except you have to think of the ship as the Force. You can’t just expect flight school basics to cover it all.”

“No, you can’t, but it does help to learn the basics of running a vessel.”

They both go quiet again. Sam twiddles one of her thumbs against the dashboard, wishing there was some way to jump into lightspeed and get far away from whatever bothered mom; whatever bothered her.

“I just thought dad would be here for my first time really flying the Falcon because we both love it.”

There is another pause, although not as long as the first.

Quietly, “You think I don’t love this ship too?”

Sam stares at mom. Of course mom loves it, but –

“It was the first place I felt home after Alderaan. Not just because of your dad and Uncle Luke and Chewie, but it’s where I watched you grow up. It’s a sturdy old thing you can depend on even when you can’t.”

Sam may have heard dad say something similar, but this is mom entirely. She understands this ship just as well as any of them. Sam’s shamefaced to admit, but how could mom not know? She’d seen the Falcon through some of its worst times.

The confidence Sam usually expects from mom returns to her voice ( _and a little bit of the bravado she expects from dad_ ), “Your uncle doesn’t believe me sometimes and your father doesn’t set much store by the philosophy of piloting, but I am something of a Skywalker.”

Now Sam reaches across for mom’s hands, abandoning the steering for a sturdy squeeze.

“Me too,” Sam replies with pride.

And they’ll make it a first flight even dad couldn’t manage.

\----------

It takes both Sam and Master Darrin a while to adjust to each other.

Though she knows better, Sam imagines training like the stories. It would be like how mom and Aunt Mara learned: with friends and all together, or something mysterious and intense like Uncle Luke with Master Yoda. ( _Sam easily erases the tension and the fear from those accounts._ )

Sam misses Bee and Ahsoka desperately with no substitute to replace them.   Jealous glares are thrown one-sided across the dinner table at Pres for having landed Set’s instruction.

The reality is a little boring, although Master Darrin isn’t bad, Sam has to half-heartedly admit to herself. He’s too interested in how Things used to be done and Sam fights the urge to yell at him but this is how Things are done now, but she bites her tongue with some limited success.

Being assigned to her first guard duty would be dull, but Sam gets an unwarranted shiver of anticipation when she finds out what system they’ve been assigned to.

She clings to the cool metal of her hilt almost desperately when they are told to surrender their weapons at the checkpoint, but Master Darrin hands his over easily, so Sam must do the same.

The prime minister leads them down the glass halls of the capital city. Sam tries to pay attention but is too caught up in this place that reminds her of Coruscant and yet definitely isn’t.

It’s far too small, but it’s also too clean. The endless cubes of buildings show no sign of decades of Imperial control, several years in jostled hands, or that its bloodiest conflict ended nearly fourteen years ago. It’s a peaceful place, Sam supposes.

Except there’s almost no one there.

“It is impressive how quickly New Mandalore has managed to reestablish themselves after being an exiled body even longer than Death Watch,” Master Darrin comments at Soniee Omek’s lecture.

“It’s been hell since the day we lost Satine Kryze –”

At this, Sam’s stride falters at the remembered history; not the more recent foray of her parents. Master Darrin glances back at her. All their masters were forewarned of who their grandfather was, though none were cowed by the information.

Sam quickly rejoins them.

“– but we’re making gains every day on old ground and even if we’re not convincing the most diehard of those reactionaries, the ambivalent who lived through the occupation are starting to see it our way.”

“Yet you suspect –” Master Darrin supplies.

The prime minster waves her hand, “There will always be those unhappy with us, but I’d rather be safe than sorry with the Confederates and Republicans coming to observe the Council. Can’t have them taking our system away from us again.”

That evening, Sam paces their small quarters thinking hard while Master Darrin tries to meditate. Or sleep. Whatever.

“Padawan, your time would be better served resting.”

“But what if something does happen tomorrow? It would be the perfect opportunity to piss off pretty much every system in the galaxy since everyone’s got some representation or ally present.”

Master Darrin cracks an eye open.

“If you believe that to be the case, we shall take it into serious consideration.”

He’s saying the words, but Sam’s not so sure he believes her.

At the conference, Sam looks out from the perimeter, high above. Master Darrin must be somewhere, but he’s good at concealing himself. There’s a small commotion from somewhere outside. It’s not enough to grab the attention of the assembled, but Sam certainly hears it.

She dashes into the enclosed square to see Master Darrin wrestling someone to the ground, two others already pinned down.

Sam gapes.

“You were right,” he notes all too obviously, but there is something pleased about his tone.

“You got them without your lightsaber?” Sam is seriously impressed.

“Weapons aren’t necessary for everything, Sam. I even took a strategy you would employ and chased them down.”

Master Darrin’s usually more serious face grins and Sam beams right back.

And afterwards, although she isn’t totally convinced to abandon her lightsaber, she feels a bit ok leaving it hooked to her belt.

\----------

“Is it weird taking little kids away from their home?” Sam asks after she kicks the engine into gear.

Ahsoka leans back in the seat, considering as Sam lifts off into the afternoon sky.

“It’s difficult. Even if the parents are will to let them go, even if they know they’ll see them again often; it is something of a burden, giving children a power they’re when only beginning to understand living. Imagine what it would be like if you didn’t know about the Force and Jedi and what that would mean to you at a young age.”

Sam honestly can’t, but nods anyway.

“What about –”

“HEY!” Ahsoka yells, and Sam gets the point.

While exiting the atmosphere, Sam neglected to note the other ships and vessels reentering and orbiting. She flips the ship, squeezing through two cruisers. Another hair in either direction and they’d hear the whine of metal scraping against metal.

Sam lets out a huge exhale when they’re clear. Ahsoka shakes her head, muttering.

“You’re all lunatics.”

“Hey, who taught you how to fly?” Sam asks to make a point.

“A lunatic,” Ahsoka’s face is straight, but there’s affection in her deadpan.

Then, like when she doesn’t want younglings to pull dangerous tricks again, she warns, “Don’t do that if we’re bringing a child back with us.”

Sam mock salutes.

\----------

Going for a run around the palace relieves some of the tension building in Sam’s back and at least this way she feels productive. Senators don’t really need Jedi security, but it makes the former feel more at ease.

Master Darrin insisted she use her energy to scout the area; Master Aven suggested she have Ratri come with her, except now she’s lost the kid and it’s only kind of her fault.

Sam’s been coming here since she was a baby practically; Ratri has not.

So now her attempt to avoid him is reversed, although maybe he wanted to escape in the first place and Sam’s looking around the marble colonnades and in the tiny courtyards and –

She’s run practically headfirst into someone who isn’t her responsibility.

“Sorry,” she mutters, recollecting herself to continue her search.

She’s almost escaped when her roadblock calls out, “Do you know the way to council chamber?”

“Down this corridor, first left, first right, second left! Can’t miss it!” she shouts over her shoulder, not stopping.

( _She gets his name later._ )

\----------

Getting back to the Temple can’t come fast enough. Bottle clutched in hand, Sam races up the steps and runs to Pres’s usual haunt.

She blurts out, “Well?” before the door’s even shut behind her. A half nod from Pres and Sam launches herself at him, entire body screaming for joy. Pres miraculously stays upright.

“Scariest couple hours of my life,” he exhales, clearly relieved. He catches glimpse of what’s Sam carries. Hesitant, “That isn’t dad’s best reserve is it?”

“Don’t worry, 3PO didn’t see me.”

Pres snorts skeptically, but gladly takes the bottle and pops the cork. Sam jumps up and opens the door, sticking her head into the hallway to check for unwanted company.

After his swig, “What are you doing?”

“Looking for Aunt Mara. She always is around when you’re doing things you’re not supposed to.”

Pres chucks a small pack off his belt at her head; Sam levitates it right back at him.

Crashing down next to him, she indicates for the bottle. Pres passes it reluctantly, but passes it all the same.

“Congrats, big brother, on being the first of us to become a Jedi. Bee and I expect a much better party in three years.”

Snidely, “If you pass.”

Conceding, “Okay, Bee wants a much better party.”

The door opens; Pres shoves the bottle behind him unnecessarily.

“Do I smell the good stuff? How’d you get it out?” Bee asks.

“Don’t worry, 3PO didn’t see her,” Pres mock assures.

They all swig more than their share. Dad will know, but he won’t be too mad.

They are all flush with happiness.

\----------

There’s no such thing as quiet night hours at home, but Sam lets out a sigh of relief when she gets home to the dark and the silence.

She dabs at her forehead again, and in the low light from the city beyond, there’s fresh blood on her fingertips. She frowns at the renewed bleeding, wishing she hadn’t let that bastard get the better of her, even if the knife mostly missed.

There’s a hissing of doors and the shadow of Bee comes, shifting the shades of black before Sam, until a light clicks on. Sam blocks her eyes with her clean hand before the bright light blinds her.

_It doesn’t look too bad._ Bee looks over the gash critically then disappears for a med kit. Sam sits, a little lightheaded, taking care not to get too much blood on it.

Bee stitches the cut up with dexterity; Sam doesn’t wince at the needle.

“Remember that time you broke your fingers?” Sam asks.

Bee does, of course: smashed them right into a door at the capitol building of New Alderaan, while everyone else was in the residence. Sam ran half-dressed all the way through the state halls to tie the two fingers in a splint before they even knew what was wrong with Bee’s bones.

“The repair job you did was quite good.”

Bee is in earnest, but there’s a bit of a teasing smile quirking her lips. Bee is their primary minder, and as Han Solo’s kids, they manage every scrape possible. Jedi reflexes are no good against wanton Solo stupidity.

“All done,” Bee declares. Sam feels it again; parsecs better than the medical tape she’d haphazardly slapped on there.

Bee has her own ailments tonight too.

_How’s it going with Ysanne?_ Sam dares.

Bee’s face nearly crumples with no reply. Sam pulls her close and tight, her shoulder the only witness to Bee’s silent sobs.

\----------

“That was the most unbelievably stupid thing you’ve ever done on your own.”

Vocal scolding has happened before; threats ( _and promises_ ) of groundings too. It’s the thin, quiet tone dad’s using now that means she’s in real trouble.

Sam’s taken for granted she’s dad’s favorite for too long.

( _Favorite isn’t the right word. Of course Pres’s the firstborn and only son, Bee’s perfect and free with affection, while Sam came as an afterthought, named for some great aunt mom probably can’t even remember. But the gleam in dad’s eyes when he’s told she, Sam, is undoubtedly his, though usually in critique, means_ something.)

Sam kicks at a rock under the shadow of her own transport, the Falcon safe and secure, and out of sight on this gods-forsaken system. She is unable to respond to the fact levelled before her.

Dad’s deadly calm rant continues.

“It’s one thing to run into trouble, but you went looking for them. On purpose.”

Feebly, “I thought –”

“You didn’t,” he cuts back. He would know. Sam winces.

There is as much frustration as there is relief in his next exhale, “Look, there are still enough stray pirates and smugglers left in the galaxy who hate me for switching sides. Definitely for being involved in the slave trade takedown.”

There are plenty of reasons for the scum of the galaxy to hate mom for what she’s always been; dad just seems like the more universally liked, even if the opposite may be true.

Sam sticks her chin out in her own defiance, “I could have taken those bastards out.”

She could have handled it, solidified mom and dad’s legacies a little further.

“Maybe, but I don’t want to have to find out I need to negotiate with ‘those bastards’ to get you back.”

Arms folded across her chest, “And compromise your morals?”

“And risk losing you.”

The crack in his voice is too much for Sam, her anger melting as easily as his.

The hug is for reconciliation and near bone-crushing.

\----------

Jon’s office is the perfect place to fool around in because no one in the family goes to the senate unless called, and mom doesn’t spend much time interacting with a junior senator from Coruscant from a political family she’s already ambivalent about.

Sam’s feeling pretty good from her perch on his desk with both their pants down when Jon mumbles something incomprehensible into her neck.

Not really caring, “Hmm?”

“I have a meeting with the Chancellor, I think.”

“Do you or don’t you, ‘cause that’s something I think you wouldn’t want to be late for.”

“No, I definitely do. Fuck.”

Jon scrambles to redress; Sam stays put, halfway between annoyance for the interruption and still content enough to not care. It’s only when there’s a knock at the door they both panic.

The office is small and there’s no place for Sam to duck out of or hide – except under the desk. Sam dives underneath it with the remainder of her clothing just as Jon pulls himself together enough to say “Come in.”

There’s a number of people and the Chancellor has to be among them because Jon shoots straight up.

“Sit. No need for the formality.”

Jon sits again on command. Sam has no interest in the proceedings of whatever Jon’s about to be lectured on and is feeling a little vengeful for their interrupted sex.

Slowly, she begins working her way up the inside of his leg. She’s almost impressed how well he’s holding together, obviously only nodding and making noises of agreement at the Chancellor until she makes it to his lap.

His knees bang up against the underside of the table, nearly taking her head with them. Sam’s a little dizzy herself, but her mind nearly wipes when she hears a voice that doesn’t sound like Chancellor Mothma.

“Is everything alright?” mom asks.

There is no way in every hell mom doesn’t know where Sam is and what she’s doing.

“Fine, Senator Organa,” Jon manages in a painfully strangled voice where everything is far from it. 

The blood pounding in Sam’s ears must be reverberating around the room; how can anyone present carry on a conversation with it making the noise it is? Yet somehow they do; the voices and footsteps retreat and the second the door hisses shut, Jon throws back his chair to let her escape, his face quickly draining of all color.

Sam punches him in the arm; Jon winces backwards.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me my mother was in the room?”

Still edgy and panicked, “Sorry, we don’t all have that extra Jedi communication. Oh my gods does she know?”

“Probably. I mean, she definitely knows I was in the room and you have _no_ saabac face.”

The realization sinks in and Sam goes a bit weak in the knees. How is she going to face mom at dinner tonight? Or ever again?

She presses her face into Jon’s chest, trying not to topple over, though he’s a bit wobbly himself and he sinks back into his seat, Sam with him.

After a few pained silent beats, he finally manages to speak weakly, but impressed, “You have crazy guts and I have to thank you for the attempt at least.”

Sam scoffs, “Attempt. You’re the idiot who can’t plan our time around your meetings. I was just making sure I wasn’t getting ripped off.”

“You’re not going to let me live this down.”

Affecting a pout, “Not in the slightest. When you officially meet my dad, I’ll have to tell him you never make time for me.”

Jon frowns, “But your mom’ll just tell him what happened already.”

Sam smacks him on the same sore spot.

“I hate you.”

He retaliates this time with a kiss.

( _Sam walks back into the apartment that evening head high. Mom raises an eyebrow and considers her for a moment._

_“Next time, not in front of Mon._ Definitely _not in front of me.”_

_It’s better dad doesn’t know yet._ )

**Author's Note:**

> See author bio for discussion on this 'verse.


End file.
